


Miss Sticky Fingers

by HelplessDaydreams



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-08-09 05:15:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7788127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HelplessDaydreams/pseuds/HelplessDaydreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reader has always been one for stealing things,  she makes a living stealing haunted artifacts...but her habit of stealing gets her in a lot of trouble when she takes it upon herself to steal a certain '67 Chevy Impala...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Miss Sticky Fingers

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there! This is an idea that popped into my head a while ago. 
> 
>  
> 
> Criticism and comment a are encouraged! 
> 
> Not sure who reader will end up with, leave your opinion if you want!

For as long as you could remember, you'd had a knack for stealing things. As a child, you'd stolen many things, from other children's toys to your mothers slippers. You'd horde your theived treasures in various places in your room, like the bottom of your toybox and the crawlspace behind a section of drywall in your closet. And you were never caught. Not one mysterious disappearance of any toy was linked back to your kleptomaniac little self.

As time went on, it would seem the older you got, the more valuable and expensive your treasures became. It became diamon earrings, wedding rings, and silver utensils. Into your high school career, it only continued to escalate. You stole the silver candleabra from the prom venue, and even the pearl necklace from the case at a small town museum in your home town. In fact, it was that particular instance that you learned something that shaped your career forever...

People paid WELL to get their precious items back.

Hell, sometimes they paid more than the item was worth. Sentimental value or some garbage like that. And boy, did it make for good money when you 'found and returned' the items and collected the reward money. You could steal and get paid to give things back. And what a great opportunity it became.

And there you were, 22 years old, and making more money in weeks than the average lawyer does in years. You were into stealing dark artifacts for big spenders. It was a slow build to the level of thievery and money you were in now. It started small, it wasn't like you were born stealing cursed objects for and selling them to anonymous buyers. But now that you were in, there was no way you were getting out. Not with the sweet cash in your pocket.

It was mid autumn when your life was catapulted out of your control. You'd just finished acquiring a certain, rusting medieval torture device said to have the souls of thousands who had been slaughtered by it, clinging to the very thing in death. You'd taken precautions, of course. You believed in the curses. You'd seen their effects first hand from other thieves who hadn't heeded the warnings and died in horrific ways. You couldn't be in this business and not believe. So, you'd worn leather gloves and wrapped the device in cloth so it wouldn't touch your skin at any moment. The last thing you wanted was to catch the curse and spend forever tortured by some creepy executor ghost.

You'd decided to stop at a diner in town, seeing as you were so ahead of schedule. You were just that good. You sat at the window seat so you could watch the outside world, the object carefully wrapped in your coat pocket. You had just finished your first cup of coffee when you saw it. The most beautiful thing you'd ever laid your e/c eyes on...it was sitting there amongst the brilliant orange leaves that were falling from the dying trees above. It was slick, black, and stunning...a '67 Chevy Impala. You wanted it. And what you wanted- you stole.

It was clear to you that the gorgeous vehicle had been there for a while, because it still had the glittering beads of morning rain scattered about it and leaves plastering the windshield. A wide smile stretched across your face, and you stood and paid. "Mama's getting herself a new ride."

You had to act fast because there was no knowing when the owner would be back. You walked briskly, but calmly toward your prize and held your breath, hoping it wasn't restored to be electronic...it wasnt. Who ever it belonged to, had taken splendid care of it...kept it original, old school. You grinned, lucky for you. You tried the door out of habit, but you'd be shocked if it was open. Another reason you were thankful the car wasn't electonic, was the fact that the lock would work with a bobby pin. You pulled it from your h/l h/c hair and glanced around to be sure you weren't being watched. And then you knelt down and began picking the lock carefully.

Sure, most people would be worried about getting arrested for grand theft. But you weren't most people. You knew ways to evade the law like the back of your hand. You were more afraid of spiders than you were getting arrested.

You turned the pin and felt the lock give, and grinned. You stood, and pulled open the door. It gave a satisfying click, and you beamed. You slid in the seat and just basked in the sensation of the cool leather sliding beneath you, the scent of the car was delightful. Leather, musk, and matches. It was completely hunky, and you bit your lip to keep from laughing in joy. You reached to close the door so when you hotwired the baby you wouldn't be seen, but you were promptly interrupted by a sound that shot adrenaline straight through you.

"HEY!"

The voice was low, gruff, and distinctly masculine...and you had no desire to wait around and see the face that matched it. You cussed and closed the door, locking it and leaning down to pull the area below the dash off. You hated to cut the precious wires, but you had no choice. You pulled your leatherman and made quick work slicing the right wires. You pushed the ends together, ushering a spark. You could hear the sound of thundering steel toed boots as they stormed closer.

"Come on, come on, come on!"

You cried, just as the engine roared to life and settled into a luxurious purr. Oh that was hot. You wasted no timed putting it in drive and peeling out and down the road, laughing as you vaguely saw two men in plaid and jeans fading away in your rearview mirror.

* * *

 

You drove for hours, learning about the driver's taste in music as you went. You loved all the greats, and so did they. Kansas, Styx, Def Leopard...you were jamming all the way until 2 am when you pulled into an open all night motel. It was the time and place you were supposed to drop off the artifact. You took two keys from the front desk, one for your own room and one for the room you were supposed to make the drop. You took one last longing gaze at your new ride and smiled before turning the key in the drop room. You dropped the package off on the drawer that your buyer had instructed, and locked the door on the way out.

What a catch. Of all your thievery, this was your personal favorite. You were a sucker for old muscle cars, and you'd hit the jackpot. You'd taken a look in the glove box and found a nice sized handgun, and several fake IDs, with two incredibly gorgeous men in every one. You assumed they were the owners, which lead you to believe they wouldn't get the police involved, with all those false IDs, it would be suicide.

You opened the door to your motel room, feeling pretty damn invincible. Like you could conquer the world. You ordered room service and spent a hearty amount on all the luxuries a cheap motel could offer...and promised yourself that next time you stayed somewhere, it would be at a 5 star joint with waterfalls and bellhops or whatever.

You leaned back on your pillow, opened a mini bottle of wine, and watched mindless sitcoms until you fell asleep.

* * *

 

In the morning, you dressed in your best and decided to just go for a long drive. So you skipped to your stolen treasure, and kissed that he'll hole goodbye before peeling out onto the country road and driving wherever the world may take you.

You were on cloud nine, somewhere in Virginia when the short and loud ding of your phone interrupted you. That was the sound you reserved strictly for clients. You pulled into a vacant parking lot, popped a donut in your mouth, and unlocked your screen to read the text.

_Sword of Souls. West Milwaukee. Muesuem of Midcentury Weapons. Drop off at Three Square Hotel. Room 124. Hunters involved. $50,000 cash._

You nearly dropped the donut from your mouth. $50,000 for a drop off?! Sure, hunters were involved...the very bane of your existence and the biggest threat to your livelyhood. They liked to destroy your merchandise...but for $50,000 you'd face Van Hellsing himself.

 _Done_.

You quickly tapped away your answer and put your baby in drive. You were going to Milwaukee and getting paid.

* * *

 It took 13 hours to get from Virginia to Wisconsin, and by the time you arrived it was very early in the morning which was coincidentally the perfect time for a raid.

You parked a block away from the museum and walked the short way to the back enterance. It was highly secured, which should have off put you, but you couldn't shake that magic number the buyer promised. You were greedy, so what? Wasn't everyone to an extent? You could go on vacation for that money.

You were careful to remove the alarm system, rewiring it and opening the door. You watched for lasers or anything to trip you up. You were incredibly careful. You heard voice a and assumed they were guards, so you were careful to avoid them. You followed the signs on the walls, walking down corridors to find the wing your loot was being stored in. And when you turned the corner and entered the room where it was held, your heart skipped a beat.

It wasn't there.

The case was there, labeled and everything, but it was empty.

"Shit..."

You muttered, before you heard a creak to your left and shot your head to the side to see a giant man in white robes charging at you with the sword in hand. You screamed and darted to the side, narrowly missing the blade by centimeters.

"Treacherous woman! I shall end thee by my blade!"

The man shouted rushing at you once more. This time he clipped your shoulder. The cut stung like hell, likely deep into muscle, but you had to keep moving. You ran for the door only to be blocked by his sword.

"You've betrayed me for the last time, wench,"

With every seething word he stepped closer and pushed you into the corner of the room...you were trapped.

"Kiss your life goodbye!"

He raised his sword and you raised your hands in protest as he brought it down with the fury of hell. You thought you were going to die, that your last moments were about to be spent in a dark, dingy museum with some whacko about to murder you...

But then there was gunfire.

It was so loud it made your ears ring. It was definitely a shotgun. The man in front of you shrieked and dropped the sword, before he disappeared like smoke. Almost like a reflection on water that had just been rippled away. You realized then he was a ghost. You'd never actually seen one yourself, but it made sense with the sword and all.

"Are you alright?"

Came a worried and soothing voice from in front of you. You glanced up to see a tall man in front of you, dressed in blue jeans, a flannel button up and a grayish green jacket. He was holding a shotgun to the side, but at the ready. He had a handsome face with a concerned brow and hair that waved in front of his eyes. He looked dreadfully familiar.

"Yeah, I'm fine-"

You replied, but you were interrupted by a familiar voice from behind the first male. Your blood ran cold.

"The hell was that, Sammy-"

When his eyes landed on you, rage like you've never seen bubbled behind his striking green hues.

"Where the hell's my car?!"

He boomed, stomping closer. But not before you lifted the sword and darted between the two. They were quick, but you were quicker. You darted down the halls, hoping to God you remembered the way out. And sure enough, you were out the back and into the cool autumn air. You ran behind buildings, trying to loose them. They were still on your tail, but far behind. When you finally made it to the car, you tossed the sword in the back and hotwired the engine again. If you weren't so scared you would laugh at the familiarity of the situation.

They were in your line of sight now, and you pulled out of the street and sped down the road. But not fast enough.

Behind you, the taller one, Sam, pulled out a black glock and aimed for the tires.

"What the hell are you doing? Not my baby!"

The older of the two shouted. Sam shot him an apologetic glance.

"Sorry Dean, we can't loose that sword."

And then he pulled the trigger, popping the right back tire. The car screeched as it tried to balance itself, but failing. It spun out of your control and you screamed, trying so hard to get it back on track. But you couldnt. The car came to a rough stop when it hit the curb, and then it was still. You'd hit your head on the steering wheel, and you were in and out of consciousness.

Dean cussed and the two of them ran up to where you and the car were, several yards away.

"Dammit Sam, if you hurt her..."

The car, that is.

"Relax Dean, just the tire."

Sam replied, as the two if them rounded the vehicle. Sam pulled the door open and looked you over, the same look of worry on his face. His brows turned up and his eyes widened...he kinda looked like a puppy. If a puppy was an attractive man who'd just shot you off the road.

"Just relax, okay? We aren't going to hurt you-"

"Dont say that until we've seen the damage on my car."

Dean grumbled, earning a shooting glance from Sam. He pursed his lips and shrugged in reply.

"Y-you...shot at me..."

You mumbled, fighting to keep Sam's face in focus. But it was quickly becoming four faces.

"I'm sorry, I had to keep you from taking that sword...it's too dangerous. It has to be destroyed."

Dean was incredulously starting at the back of Sam's head. He was wondering why he was explaining himself to a thief who had stolen his car, all their weapons, dads journal, and now the dank sword. Sure, you were incredibly gorgeous, but Dean was trying to ignore that fact...but failing.

"I..."

You tired to say before passing out, your head falling back on the seat.

"Great. Now we have a blown tire, a possessor sword, and a passed out trouble magnet in the front seat."

Dean said, tossing his arms into the air. He was usually full of harm...but you'd stolen his prized possesion.

"C'mon then, let's get rid of the freaky poker and get the hell home."

Home being a dingy motel a few miles away.

"I've got some questions for Miss Sticky fingers here."

 

 

 

To be continued...


End file.
